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Masturbation: Mighty Python and the Search for the Holy Male (1/3) 
 5 votes
Author: ulysses  Published: 8/25/2006  story views: 3636

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I awoke feeling saturated. The first few streaks of the morning’s sunlight penetrated through the matchstick blinds covering the windows and fell on my nude form lying on the bed, as if I were posing for some young artist’s groundbreaking masterpiece. There was no young artist, however, and there was no masterpiece—simply my waking up disgruntled and covered in a film of sweat. I thought of myself as a strawberry that is too ripe to eat, too soggy to enjoy. A quick glance down at my body reaffirmed my belief in this self-prognosis: my abs had disappeared since graduating college, my thighs had gotten a little meatier, and my chest no longer had any definition. Waking up to an unfulfilled semi-boner didn’t help how I felt, either. Too bad, I thought to myself, that I didn’t answer the rooster’s call saturated in cum instead of sweat—too bad I wasn’t coaxed from my nightmares by the nurturing, sensuous kisses of my church’s priest lying next to me in bed, too dirtied by the previous night’s sin to hear my lascivious confessions. But these thoughts were of no help in getting me off or in getting me up from bed, so I pushed them to the back of my mind and began to think about searching for a job yet again.

In the course of one single day—just one—I managed to lose my job, my boyfriend, and my cat. That day was yesterday. Oh, and how could I forget to mention this: I also lost my faith in everything. The whole dramatic event came about because I overslept and missed work again, all because I laid in bed wrapped around Drake’s body. He made me comatose, especially after an evening of delightfully hot barebacking; I couldn’t help but miss work to salvage a few remaining moments with him before going to the store and agonizing over not being with him, being inside of him completely with my starving cock eating its way into the heart of his sexual energy.

It was especially difficult to live through that agony of uncontrollable sexual desire—and hidden hard-ons throbbing against my tight denim Levi’s beneath the veneer desk—because of the whole new fashion adopted by the hot and hip college twinks. Every time I looked up from the computer, I would see a stud with bleached, spiked hair pointing in all directions, sparkling eyes, a skinny waist, and crotch-hugging jeans that showed every feature of his luscious, fresh cock. With my luck, all those cute guys were all probably straight, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t still fantasize about them at the desk and then beat off in the bathroom instead of taking my usual smoke break (although I’d normally be smoking something in my fantasies).

Work drove me absolutely mad! That’s why I could no longer muster the energy to go on time every day, and that’s why I got fired. And since I got fired, Drake left me because he said that I could no longer “afford him.” And along with Drake went my precious cat, Mr. Cuddles, because he stole him when I wasn’t at home. Drake did leave me one thing, however: an insatiable sexual lust, especially for men that I could not have. I have never been a particularly graphic person, but something about the way in which he changed my outlook on life and sex stirred an untapped energy and lust in
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